It was hard for Dolphus not to react poorly to that statement as he sheathed his blade. More than the words of Tharwin or Mariner, Devan had reaffirmed the existence of the king coming to age. Depending on the perspective, he supposed, that could be as early as 12, or perhaps as late as 30. Literally anyone on the crew - except perhaps Rook, thank not magic - could be the next King.
Yes, the royal lineage was dead in the water. Perhaps. But lineages were contested all the time, and whoever the next king was had quite the battle ahead of him, regardless of blood relation or if he was starting a new dynasty in the southern isles.
Wait. Dolphus looked around, then jolted violently.
Dolphus quickly jogged back up to the pair- well, he tried to, but after slapping his hand over his mouth to silence a yelp, he limped forward as well as he could, having lagged behind to retrieve Devan’s notebook and quill he launched out of his wing at high speed when he struck the marine. I have to remember that’s in my wing… I can’t afford to be so cavalier with these things.
There was a flash over Dolphus’ face for a moment.
The next second he was adjusting his hair, running his sleeve over his eyes and nose, stretching his eyelids down to clear them, adjusting his collar, doing everything he could to make himself appear presentable and definitely not having just cried his eyes out… hopefully.
He knew that hurried step well enough to identify who it belonged to.